Son of the Defiler
by Newtons1Law
Summary: Bilbo Baggins had known that he was half Orc, the son of Azog the Defiler, ever since his mother had told him so on her deathbed. He just wished that Gandalf had left him well enough alone and not forced him onto a stupid journey with a group of dwarves. Much less Thorin Oakenshield, his father's greatest enemy.
1. Chapter 1

_**"Moria had been taken by legions of orcs led by the most vile of their race... Azog the Defiler. The giant Gundabad orc had sworn to wipe out the line of Durin. He began... by beheading the king."**_

_—__**Balin**_

Bilbo Baggins was a peculiar hobbit, he always had been. Some in the Shire whispered that the fauntling wasn't even fully hobbit. It had been a common enough rumor when Belladonna Took had come back from her adventures, carrying numerous new scars, a bloody axe and heavy with child. But after Bilbo had been born and blossomed into an adorable little faunt with pointed ears and golden curls, nobody really fed those rumors anymore. It didn't seem to matter who Bilbo's father was, especially not after Bungo Baggins proposed to Belladonna and took responsibly of Bilbo's upbringing. Bilbo became as much a Baggins as Bungo and Belladonna after that, at least in the eyes of anybody who mattered. The young fauntling was a wonderful son, always smiling and willing to help with the housework. So what if his mother sometimes heard him speak words that she herself didn't understand... so what if his ears weren't as pointed as some of the other hobbit babes...so what if his canines were sharper than those of others? It wasn't as if it mattered! Bilbo Baggins was fully hobbit.

Except for the fact that he wasn't.

When Belladonna Baggins (nee Took) first met Azog, he wooed her. He had admired her strength and her bravery as a woman-warrior. And she admired the fact that he seemed to tower over her and stroke the sky. It was only once that they let their composure slip away from them. But once was enough for a seed to be planted. It was only later that the horror struck her, she had bedded an Orc and she would have his child. After Bilbo was born, she had half-expected him to be thrown from her womb fully armored and covered in the blood of those he'd fallen. Instead he looked like any other hobbit fauntling, so she hid away the fact that her babe was only half-hobbit, that his father had been a ruthless killer who had slaughtered millions of innocents. Only she would ever know the truth, that Bilbo was half-Orc and that he'd been gifted with a different name by his birth-father. Balogog, Son of the Defiler.

When Bilbo was just barely tween, the Fell Winter came. It was the first time that Belladonna saw what her child really was. The wolves came first and at the first sounds of screams, her young one had run from their smiel and roared in rage. He was shrieking in that ungodly language of his, it was a rough language that sounded like grunts and growls when Belladonna listened hard enough. He had nothing but his mother's rusted gardening knife in his hand and a crackling torch for light. She had screamed for him to come back where it was safe, but the wild boy wouldn't listen. He howled with rage as bloodlust coursed through his body. He was a whirlwind as he slashed, chopped and bit his way through the wolves. Taking down anything that threatened to stand in his way. He singlehandedly slaughtered all of them. Then collapsed, toppling limply into a puddle of his enemies' blood. Belladonna was the first to reach her fallen son, only to realize that the boy was happily smiling and that his brown eyes were dilated and had taken on a frightening shade of crimson red...like the horridly sickening shade of spilled blood.

When Bilbo was twenty-two, Bungo was dead and Belladonna was nearer than she'd ever been before. She was the second parent that Bilbo was to lose, it broke her heart to see his tears. He begged for her to stay, he couldn't learn to be proper hobbit without them. They weren't supposed to leave him so very early. Old Bellows Took had lived to see one-hundred-and-eighty, why couldn't they see him off for just a wee bit longer? It was only then, with her last breath on her lips that Belladonna Baggins reached for her son's warm hand. She cried as she told him that Bungo had loved him more than anything, that she herself loved him enough to stay if she could. She told him that he would always be a hobbit, that he would always be a Baggins, no matter what others may say, no matter what his blood-line professed him to be. She told her child that he was the son of Azog the Defiler, the Great Pale Orc. Bilbo told her in a thin and broken voice too old for the young halfling, that a small part of him always knew. He also told her that Bungo would always be his father. That allowed Belladonna Baggins to finally rest in peace.

Bilbo keened and wailed a Orc mourning song that part of him always knew. He not only wailed for his mother, but for his adoptive-father and the birth-father that he never knew, he wailed for his lost innocence and for his Orc-blood. The blood of monsters that rushed, lurid and rank in his veins.

The young man once called Balogog, screamed.

-TimeSkip-

"Good morning, Gandalf."

Bilbo Baggins grinned as he saw the familiar grey-cloaked wizard heading down the dirt-caked road into the Shire. The wizard seemed to hide his mirth as he looked up at the seemingly normal and respectable hobbit master. Gandalf hadn't changed from the last time that Bilbo had seen him, then again, he himself hadn't changed from the day he turned twenty either. Because of his Orc blood, he aged much slower than other hobbits and he couldn't seem to gather the wonderfully rotund belly that other hobbit masters his age all had. Instead, no matter what he ate, he retained a hard and thickly muscled physique. It was just odd and the lairs of clothing he had to wear to appear normal and respectable, was horribly stifling. Gandalf saw all that and more as he gazed as Belladonna Baggins' (nee Took) son, he looked more and more like a half-breed each day, it was worrying. To both Bilbo and Gandalf himself.

"Ah, a morning to you as well Master Baggins. I do have a proposition for you, I need someone to join in an adventure. As a burglar."

Bilbo raised an eyebrow at the wizard he'd called a friend for a very long time. "Are you implying that I'm a thief due to my heritage?" The hobbit master scorned before breaking out in an even bigger smile and watching Gandalf do so as well. "No, my dear boy. I ask this of you, for the dwarves of Erebor." Bilbo stiffened at the sound of those words, the hobbit half-breed seemed to age centuries as he looked at his oldest friend and companion, at the horridly hopeful look in those grey eyes. It pained him to have to answer negatively, after all that they'd been through together. But he had too. The golden haired man lifted a few tentative fingers to gentle graze the long puckered scar across his jawline, a souvenir from the Fell Winter, he had a matching scar across his chest and over his heart.

"No, Gandalf. Dwarves...don't you remember that they despise my kind? They'll be able to smell the Orc on me from a mile away."

"Ha! You...afraid? Belladonna Took's son, a half-Orc who's too frightened to go on an adventure? What would she say? Why she'd be as appalled as myself at your behavior. You may be a an Orc, Bilbo Baggins. But you're a hobbit as well."

The hobbit had stiffened at his friend's outburst before sighing. "Well how many dwarrows will I be feeding then, Gandalf?" Gandalf grinned that peculiar grin of his before grunting out the number thirteen and tipping his hat in a very improper goodbye. It took a few moments later for the magnitude of what he'd just gotten himself into to make him groan in shock and tumble backwards heavily onto his garden bench. He was going on an adventure, Bilbo Baggins of Bag End was going on an adventure with the haters of his very kind. The very thought of it made his stomach twist in knots.

He just couldn't wait.

-TimeSkip-

When the first dwarf, Dwalin, arrived. Bilbo was fascinated. He'd set out all of his food, enough to feed a whole army and the older dwarf had arrived first. Bowing curtly to Bilbo before trudging towards the table and making himself at home, not that Bilbo could very well blame him. Gandalf had practically swung the door right open for him, for nearly all of them! It was horribly infuriating, but Bilbo did his very best not to mind. Returning their bows every time that one of them presented him with one. He felt like a damned slave, hurriedly running to grab more food as more and more dwarves arrived, filling up his entire smial with their presences. He had to dart around everywhere, dragging forth more and more cartons of ale and other alcoholic beverages from his back cellar as they always seemed to need more. But out of all of the ungrateful dwarves, Thorin was the worst.

Bilbo knew of him of course, he was the foul creature who'd rid Bilbo's birth-father of his arm. But the hobbit pushed those thoughts away as he ran around to serve the king and all the rest of his wonderful companions. They were treating him like a slave, not even a host, not an ounce of respect in their gazes as they looked scornfully at him. They were dwarves in his smial...eating his food...drinking his drink...and they didn't even have the common decency to treat him like much better than an arrant serving girl?! Those disgusting, foul-mouthed, withering creatures!

It was when they began to throw around his plates, his mother's own fine china that something inside the naturally calm half-breed, snapped. He threw down yet another tankard of ale that he'd been forced to fetch from the deepest and darkest corner of his smial's cellar. Down there with all the festering bugs and roaches. A stream of curses in Orkish threatened spill past his tightly clenched lips, instead all that came out was a scream loud enough to wake half the Shire and to cause every dwarf's ears to ring. He was using Orkish vocal cords that he hadn't used in a very long time.

"STOP IT! You ungrateful group of slobs! You should be ashamed of yourselves! Taken advantage of my hospitality like I'm some useable commodity! Bah! I could stick my fork two inches deep into your thigh if it was deemed proper!" Bilbo roared, his eyes flashing a blood crimson as he snarled gruffly. Gandalf was desperately trying to snuffle out his laughter but the younger dwarves looked petrified while the elders looked shocked.

Bilbo himself flushed as he realized just what he'd said and Gandalf let his laughs vibrate across the table top. The hobbit simply steeled himself against the looks of anger and shock, sitting down calmly in an unoccupied chair. He would not act out of turn, he was a proper hobbit, a Baggins.

_'No you're not_,' A tiny, cruel voice whispered breathily in his head.

'_You're a Defiler.'_


	2. Chapter 2

**__****"This is Orcrist, the Goblin-cleaver. A famous blade, forged by the High Elves of the West. My kin. And this is Glamdring. The Foe-hammer, sword of the King of Gondolin. These swords were made for the Goblin wars of the First..." -Elrond **

When the wrinkled and far-traveled parchment of the contract was shoved into Bilbo's calloused hands, he unfurled it with the upmost delicacy in order to spare the fragile paper from tears and scuffs. As his eyes skimmed the paper, his mouth tightened into a thin line and he bit the insides of his lips to keep from making a single sound. The words like 'incineration' and 'inevitable death' seemed to cling to the pages like Hobbit babes to their mothers. There was a great long speech about funeral arrangements and about his nearly-inevitable death. Any other respectable hobbit would've left right there and then, ditched the fanciful notion of being brave and going on a fool's quest with a group of dwarves. They were lucky that Bilbo Baggins wasn't like other respectable hobbits. He was half Took and half Orc. All sides crazy and he wasn't about to give up after Gandalf had pressured him into it. That would've been disrespectful. So he just forced a grin onto his impish features and turned towards the dwarrows and grey wizard in his dining room. They were all looking at him questioningly and Bilbo waved the parchment in front of them, mimicking the same questioningly look that they gave him, after he'd gone into the hall to read what the contract said.

"Anybody have something to sign it with?"

He called over to them, and was taken aback by the alcohol-fueled cheer that emitted from some of the younger dwarves. Suddenly a owl-feather quill and inkwell were thrown at him, if it hadn't been for his reflexes, he would've caught them with his face. He gave the dwarrows who'd thrown it, a mock scowl, before setting the contract down on one of his mother's jewelry chests and signing it with a flourish. He then proceeded to gently fold it back up with the upmost care and hand it back to the older dwarf who'd given it to him in the first place. The dwarf in question, gave him a rough smile before digging his iron-rimmed glasses out of his pack and studying the contract thoroughly, especially Bilbo's signature. Then he folded it back up and deposited in his own pack with a grunt.

"Everything looks to be in order. Welcome to the company of Thorin Oakenshield, Master Baggins."

Suddenly there was another drunken cheer and several small brown bags began to be tossed about. Bilbo's mock scowl deepened when he realized that they'd been placing bets on him the entire time. Then he inwardly shrugged, it was nothing that the older hobbits in the Shire didn't do every day. Bilbo's oddness was their very favorite thing to place bets on. The hobbit half-breed looked around at the dwarves, studying more of their faces than anything else. The dwarf with the funny hat, he thought his name might have been Bofur, was laughing with his arms around two other dwarves. One of which had long dark hair and a graying beard and the other, a obese dwarf with fiery hair who seemed to be a relative of both of them. Bilbo thought that his name was Bombur, he'd heard the others groan it when the larger dwarf had tumbled through the front door of his smial.

Their glorious and wonderful King Thorin was at the head of the table and looked to be scowling at Bilbo with a passion. The halfling only smirked back, he'd faced scarier things than Thorin Oakenshield in his days and the broody king wasn't going to dampen his spirits. In fact, the king looked mildly surprised that Bilbo didn't cow at his glare.

Oh this was going to be delightful.

-Time Skip-

Bilbo Baggins hated riding.

It wasn't the act that he hated, it was the act of staying on the animal that only wanted Bilbo to fall and break his neck. Most animals, Wargs excluded of course, hated Orcs with a passion. They could smell the rank stench of their lurid blood from a mile or so away. That was why, even if his Hobbit blood dulled the sharper scent of his Orc blood, that riding became a terrible experience. If Gandalf had known of Bilbo's predicament, he doubted that the grey wizard would've allowed the hobbit to be tossed onto the back of a pony. But he didn't know and Bilbo was tossed. In the span on the hour or so that they'd been on their journey, Bilbo had been tossed from his pony, not once..not twice..but seven times. The dwarves had assured him that Myrtle was a calm and gentle little old beast, but she wasn't! She was a demonic witch in disguise! Whenever he'd voiced this to his company they'd laughed at him, thinking he was just some stuffy hobbit complaining to just complain. It was damn near irritating.

When he'd been tossed from his pony, for what seemed like the hundredth time that day. He felt calloused hands tucked under his armpits and suddenly he was deposited into the lap of Bofur. The hatted dwarf smiled and chuckled at the scandalized look that Bilbo presented him with.

"If you can't stay on by yourself, it's fine if you ride with me." The dwarf explained gruffly and Bilbo felt the hot blush that spread over his cheeks. Then he grinned cheekily at the horse, it wouldn't toss him now, not when Bofur was holding so tightly to him. The horse gave a long and deep-throated whinny as it tossed its head and seemed to scowl up at the dwarf and hobbit half-breed. Bofur gave a real laugh when he noticed the look that the beast was giving both of them. Then he ruffled the hobbit master's golden curls, which earned him a grimace from the hobbit in question. He wasn't a child, oh the very gods be damned!

Then, just as he was mentally reaffirming his status as being an adult, Thorin stopped abruptly, leaving the rest of the company to slow their horses in a hurry. The unexpected jolt of Bofur stopping the horse sent Bilbo tumbling forwards. His eyes widened and were suddenly shot through with veins of startling crimson red as he grit his teeth, biting down hard on his lip with his sharp Orc-teeth and digging suddenly sharp fingernails into the horse's thickly muscled neck. But the horse in question was having none of it, Bilbo's fearful Orkish scent had clouded the stallion's nostrils and all it could think of was to remove the heinously smelling creature from his back and to bolt for his life. The stallion began to cry out and buck ferociously, Bofur was thrown from the beast's back after the first few flings. Bilbo made sure to watch as the hatted dwarf landed gentle in a thick pile of fresh grass. Bilbo himself wasn't as lucky, his fingernails were stuck in the terrified animal's hide and seemed unwilling to allow the hobbit to remove them anytime soon. The rest of the company watched in surprise as Bilbo screamed in those unearthly Orkish tones of his, still attached to the stupid horse that was whinnying as if the devil himself was on its back.

Bilbo's red streaked eyes met Balin's for a moment, the older dwarf was the closest to him and his own terror was reflected in the dwarf's lined eyes. Before long, Bilbo's talons exited the horse's flesh and the hobbit halfling was sent flying. A resounding crack was heard as Bilbo slammed into a conveniently placed tree and fell limply like a sack of stones. The dwarves all yelled instantly.

"Bilbo!"

"Master Baggins!"

"Hobbit!"

"Damned Halfling!"

Bilbo scowled when he heard Thorin's exclamation, he sat up moments later after he'd finished regathering his breath in his lungs and was instantly swarmed by a group of worried dwarrows. Bombur and Bofur instantly lifted him to his feet and dried to brush the caked dirt from his clothing. Bilbo blushed and tried to shove away the fluttering hands. "Are you okay lad, can you stand?" Bilbo grinned and just nodded, climbing to his feet easily, he was very resilient, all those with Orc blood were. It was when he heard Thorin's stony and cold voice that made him freeze.

"Yes Halfling, are you alright? Your pony seems to have injured you. Why Gandalf, did you bring such a helpless creature on our quest, he is putting my people in danger with his reckless nature and helplessness."

Anger blossomed in Bilbo's chest as he snarled. "I never asked anything of you, I don't want your protection. I can take care of myself!" Thorin's eye roll wasn't appreciated.

Really, it wasn't.


End file.
